


No Sacrifice

by Freakierthanthou



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe - Historical Inaccuracies, Alternate Universe - Human, Coffee, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, I'm just making it up as I go man, Kink Meme, M/M, Please don't expect historical accuracy in this, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25997770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freakierthanthou/pseuds/Freakierthanthou
Summary: Nicolò finds a solution to a stalemate in an ongoing war when he accidentally proposes to one of their enemy soldiers- a loveless political marriage, Yusuf is convinced. When Nicolò realizes his mistake, he has to find a way to show Yusuf how he actually feels before their wedding day.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 26
Kudos: 371





	No Sacrifice

It was the third of what seemed like endless negotiations between their forces and the enemies who were squatting on their land, and Nicolò di Genova was extremely bored. It was becoming increasingly clear that the heathens were not going to leave, and of course their mission from God meant that they were destined (or doomed) to claim this land whether their enemies cooperated or not. 

Finally, the leaders gave up for a lunch break, and Nico and the other soldiers wandered out into the dining hall. It was their enemies’ turn to host, and Nicolò was not-so-secretly pleased at the chance to try more of their food. As they settled, he noticed several of their enemies were gathered around a vat, pouring the liquid into their cups. Curious, he followed their example. 

“What is this?” he asked the man next to him. 

The man looked almost amused at his ignorance. “It’s called coffee,” he said. “One of my favorite drinks. They don’t have it where you’re from?”

Nicolò shook his head and took an experimental sip. It was warm and rich, a deep, earthy taste that he struggled to describe. He took a deeper drink, relishing in it. 

“We have nothing like this,” he confirmed. “Maybe when we stay here, we’ll learn to grow it.”

“If,” said the man, but he was smiling, and Nico felt a fluttering in his chest at the sight. He realized that he was still standing in front of the bowl, and that the stranger held an empty cup in his own hands. 

“Would you like some?” he asked in a rush. Foolishly, he held the cup he’d already drunk from and held it out.

The man froze. Before Nicolò could ask what was wrong, the odd reaction spread out from their conversation, the rest of the heathens falling silent and staring at the two of them, Nicolò with his cup still outstretched. 

“I’m sorry,” Nicolò stammered, “I didn’t mean any offense.” But their leader had already hurried over and was standing with them. 

“We will need to discuss,” he said firmly, and took the man’s shoulder, pulling him away. Nicolò eyed the coffee suspiciously. He was already starting to feel a little jittery, like the opposite of how he felt when he’d had too much wine, and he wondered if the drink might be cursed.

They were whispering rapidly in their native tongue when several of Nicolò’s companions joined him. 

“What did you do?” asked Nile. 

Nico shrugged. “I have no idea,” he said. “Andromache?”

Andromache served as their translator as well as a capable warrior, but right now, she was busy studying the coffee, ignoring them both. When Nile nudged her, she looked up.

“Sorry,” she said. “The short one is agreeing to do something. He is being heavily praised for his sacrifice. Money is being promised to his family.”

“Seriously,” said Nile, “what did you do?”

“I don’t know,” Nicolò hissed, but the strangers were already returning to them, their leader in the front with his hand on the back of the man he had spoken to. 

“I accept,” the man said. He held out his hands, and Nicolò almost went to shake them before he realized he was still holding the coffee cup. It didn’t seem to bother the man, because he took the cup from him, holding it carefully in both hands as he took a deep drink. His throat worked around the liquid, and Nicolò blushed, looking away. 

The man handed the empty cup back to him. “Yusuf Al-Kaysani” he said. 

It took a moment (and Andromache elbowing him harder than was strictly necessary) to realize that this was his name. “Nicolò di Genova,” he said.

Yusuf bowed slightly. “My father is no longer living, and most of my family is far away,” he said. His Genovese was perfect, with a slight accent, and Nicolò stared at him. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. Then, confused but desperate to keep the conversation going, he added “my family is back in Genova.” 

Yusuf nodded, clearly unsurprised. It wasn’t like most of them had brought their parents along on the war campaign. “The khalif will stand in for the negotiations.” He was indicating their leader, who had already been the one leading the negotiations. 

“Our general will do the same,” Andromache interjected. Yusuf and the khalif both glanced at her, and nodded. 

The leaders pulled back into the discussions then, leaving most of their soldiers outside, and Yusuf disappeared into a crowd of whispering heathens, glancing back only once before he left. 

*

“Why me?” Yusuf wondered out loud. He fell forward onto the cushions and hid his face. 

“It could be worse,” Booker commented. He was sitting cross-legged across from Yusuf’s pile of pity pillows, and seemed entirely unaffected by the entire situation.

Yusuf sat up and glared at him. “I’ve been promised in marriage to one of those damned invaders,” he spat. “From this point on, my entire life will be dedicated to some foreign heathen who probably doesn’t even bathe. How could it be worse?”

Booker shrugged. “At least he’s not ugly,” he said. Yusuf pictured his betrothed, his full lips and his cold, pale eyes, and groaned.

Quynh sat down next to them, patting Yusuf’s head gently. “If nothing else, your sacrifice could bring a peaceful solution to this conflict. The invaders could become our neighbors, as well as our future spouses. And besides, if this falls through, I promise you can be the one to kill him when we meet on the battlefield.” 

“It’s probably not a great sign that that makes me feel better,” Yusuf remarked. Quynh laughed. 

“Try to get to know him,” she advised. “Maybe he’s a good man, deep, deep down inside.”

“I mean, he’s an invader who’s come to our home to murder and pillage, so not likely,” Booker remarked. “Trust me, Yusuf, focus on the skin deep, that’s as good as it’s going to get.”

“Remind me again why I’m friends with you?” 

“You were hit on the head as a child,” Booker replied sanguinely. 

The next day, however, against his better judgment, Yusuf decided to take Quynh’s advice. He approached the stranger- Nicolò, he reminded himself, his betrothed, he should remember his name- before the next diplomatic session.

“Would you like to take a walk in the gardens?” he asked, managing to sound as if he hadn’t spent hours rehearsing this question that morning.

Nicolò gave him a look of pure disdain. “Why?”

Yusuf, although taken aback, managed to recover his footing with at least a modicum of grace, he thought. “To walk,” he said. “To converse. To see if this is merely politics.”

It was hard to say how well Nicolò understood him, from the way he frowned at that, but some of it must have gotten through, because he glanced around the room and said “Of course it’s politics. What else would it be?”

They had spoken only once before, Yusuf couldn’t pretend that the pit he felt opening in his stomach was heartbreak, merely humiliation. He felt his face heat up, and hoped that the invaders wouldn’t recognize it as a blush.

“Of course,” he said, and he wasn’t quite able to keep the anger out of his voice. “What else would it be.” It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t wait for Nicolò to answer him before turning on his heel and leaving. He hoped that he was managing to keep a slow enough pace to pass as normal, but he doubted it.

*

For two days after the incident with the coffee, the heathen, Yusuf, kept trying to talk to him. Andromache and Nile were having the time of their lives teasing him, and Nicolò spent most of the time trying not to look at the other man and struggling to control his blushing. While he initially tried to be charitable and assume that Yusuf was just being friendly, at this point he had to assume that he had noticed Nicolò’s pining and was mocking him. 

Eventually, however, he seemed to get bored and left him alone, although two of his companions had taken to glaring at Nicolò whenever they passed. Andromache seemed about ready to fight the other woman, but Nico knew better than to assume it was over his honor. She usually wanted to fight someone.

The negotiations seemed interminable, and for a while, things moved from humiliating to calm to sheer boredom. Most of the meetings no longer included soldiers, and Nicolò and his companions weren’t even leaving their camp most days. One afternoon, however, the general came back in a strange mood, and called for a priest to join him. They disappeared into the campaign tent without a word to anyone else.

“Perhaps we’ve surrendered,” Andromache remarked. 

“No way,” said Nile. 

“Nico, what do you think?”

Before Nicolò could answer, the priest stepped out of the tent. The three of them went quiet, pretending to not notice, but he still came straight for them. 

“Nicolò di Genova,” he said, and he was looking directly at him. “A word?”

Nico got up slowly, pretending that Nile and Andromache weren’t looking at him intensely enough that he could feel it. He was led into the campaign tent, where the general was waiting for him. 

“You were a priest in before you joined the army, weren’t you,” said the general. 

Hesitantly, Nicolò nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said. “I chose to leave the priesthood and join the fighting.”

“You believe in our cause, then?”

“Of course.” Nicolò straightened. “God has called us to this land.”

“If we could solve this without further violence,” said the priest. “Would you take that chance?”

Nicolò looked back at him, confused. “Yes?” he said. “I did not join this campaign to seek violence.”

“The heathens will not leave.” The general spoke now, and his voice sounded heavy. “We could fight, but we would sustain heavy losses on both sides, and we would have no choice but to slaughter them all if we wished to emerge victorious. But if they were to allow us to stay as well, we believe that our mission could be accomplished peacefully.”

“What would you have me do?”

The two men looked at one another. The priest nodded, and the general sighed. 

“Five days ago, entirely by accident, you stumbled upon a solution. A political marriage. Apparently there is a sacred drink, which a man may share with his intended to ask for their hand.”

The silence hung heavy between them. Nicolò was certain that if someone miles away in the city had sneezed, he would have been able to hear it. Suddenly, the past two days made perfect sense. Yusuf’s wide eyes when he handed him the coffee, the glares of his friends- oh, God, he had asked him if this was more than politics. And Nicolò had said no, like he hadn’t seen his soft smile and the warmth of his eyes. Oh.

“Oh,” he said. 

“If you go through with this, the khalif agrees that we can have open passage through his territories. It would be the beginning of diplomatic relations between our peoples.”

Nicolò swallowed. His throat felt suddenly dry, and he thought he might start laughing hysterically. “Oh.”

“Their engagements are traditionally seven days. Meaning the day after tomorrow is your wedding.”

“General,” the priest said. “Give the boy a moment. He has not yet agreed.”

The general looked like he was about to protest, but he fell silent. He could have ordered Nicolò to go through with the marriage, but, at least now, he didn’t. 

But what else could Nicolò say? That his pride was worth more than ending this war? That God had brought this man into his life but he would not follow the path He had set for him, even if it meant peace?

“I will do it,” he said. He wasn’t imagining how both men looked relieved at the proclamation. 

“Thank you,” the general said, surprising Nico. “Others will plan everything, all you’ll need to do is be there. You are relieved for the next two days.”

The priest nudged him. “Three would be more appropriate,” he suggested. There wasn’t a hint of innuendo in his voice, but Nico still blushed. 

“Three, of course.”

A part of him wanted nothing more than to be given an assignment for the next two days that would take him far away from everything, so he wouldn’t have to face anyone. “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”

He left the tent, feeling like his head was swimming. Andromache and Nile weren’t even pretending that they weren’t watching, but he didn’t answer their questions, heading straight for his own tent as the two of them fell in behind him.

“What happened?” Nile asked, once the canvas flap had closed around them. 

“I am to be married,” said Nicolò. He wondered if he had heard correctly, or if he was imagining the entire affair. It was entirely possible that he was losing his mind. 

“To the general?” Andromache asked. 

“To one of the heathens,” Nicolò replied. “Apparently, I mistakenly asked one of their soldiers to marry me. The leaders have agreed that, if the marriage goes through, there will be peace between our peoples.”

Nile shook her head. “They can’t ask you to do that,” she said. Her voice was firm and certain. “Are they really going to order you to tie yourself to a stranger for the rest of your life?”

“Better he have a life,” said Andromache. “If it comes to war, any of us could fall. Is a marriage really that bad?”

“Better than death is an incredibly low bar,” argued Nile. “How can they force Nico to go through with this?”

“I volunteered,” said Nicolò. “Andromache is right, if my marriage to one of their men stops a war, it will have been worth it.”

Nile still looked troubled, but she put a hand on his arm and squeezed. “We’ll stay with you, then,” she said. “If nothing else, you won’t be left alone here.”

Andromache nodded, and Nicolò, for all his words about his willingness, felt tears well up in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said.

The two of them sat with him, distracting him with jokes and a game of cards for several hours, until Nicolò felt like he was standing on solid ground again. Finally, as the late afternoon began to cool, he stood.

“I should go find my betrothed,” he said. The word felt heavy on his tongue.

“Would you like us to come with you?” asked Nile.

Nico shook his head. “Thank you, but no. It would be best if I do this on my own.”

“Good luck,” said Andromache, and Nile nodded her agreement. He smiled at both of them, suddenly overwhelmed with his love for them, and stepped out on his own. 

No one tried to stop him as he left the camp and entered the city. It wasn’t until his feet hit the flagstones that he realized that he had no idea where he was going. With nothing else in mind, he went to the gardens that Yusuf had invited him to days ago. The sun was going down, and the gardens were mostly empty, a few couples on the other side speaking softly or leaning close to one another. Uncertain, Nicolò sat down on a bench.

It was a beautiful night. He was unused to this climate, but with the sun going down, it was cool, and the air was fresh and sweet-smelling. He closed his eyes.

Coming to this country had been a mission of faith for him. He had expected to conquer, make this land safe for his people, but that was about it. If he had never found someone to love him back home, he certainly couldn’t do it in a foreign land. But he wouldn’t deny how drawn he was to Yusuf, a kind man with warm eyes who spoke Genovese and teased him over coffee. He knew so little about this man. But there was so much he wanted to know. He wanted to know how else to make him laugh, besides his ignorance. He wanted to know if his hands were as strong as they looked, if his lips were as soft.

His mind was wandering, and he barely noticed the footsteps behind him before he heard a man clearing his throat. He opened his eyes, and found the very man he had been thinking of. 

“A friend told me she had spotted you here,” Yusuf said. “You are in luck that we are not at war, or I could have killed you where you stood.”

“I’m sitting.” Nicolò felt oddly calm, as if this place was a sanctuary where war could not touch them. He felt immortal, that even if he were to be struck down here, he would wake again in the arms of a beautiful stranger. “But I do consider myself lucky. And, it seems, this peace is down to us.”

“To our sacrifice,” said Yusuf. 

“It doesn’t have to be a sacrifice,” Nicolò suggested. 

Yusuf was watching him with a steady gaze and a face that betrayed no emotion. “And yet it is,” he said.

Nicolò swallowed thickly. He remembered the look in Yusuf’s eyes when he had invited him on a walk- hope, he realized now. Which, of course, he had crushed. He tried to find the words. They would make the best of it? Find something good in all this? None of it seemed quite right. “Life is what we make it,” he said. 

“I’ll try to make our life together tolerable, then,” Yusuf said. He turned and left before Nicolò could argue that this wasn’t what he meant. 

*

“It’s as if his only purpose in life is to humiliate me,” Yusuf vented. “He didn’t have to come here, he just chose to go out of his way to annoy me.”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned,” said Booker, eying the door. Yusuf had spent most of the night on the topic, and woke with the sun to continue on the same vein. Booker was currently envying Quynh, who was conveniently nowhere to be found after the incident in the gardens. “You know, you have the rest of your life to hate this man, and just two more days to enjoy your freedom. Why dedicate today to more complaining?”

“You really aren’t helpful, are you.” 

“I take pride in it.”

Yusuf waved his hand. “Fine, go, if you must. I’ll suffer alone.”

“Great.” Booker stood up, pausing briefly to ruffle Yusuf’s hair with more affection than his words implied before moving to the door. He had barely opened it when he stopped in his tracks. “Um.” 

Lying neatly on the floor was a bouquet of flowers. Yusuf stared at it for long enough that Booker was the one to pick it up.

“There’s a note,” he said, unfurling the paper.

It took them both a moment to read the Latin lettering. 

_For Youseph, in anticipation and sincerity. With affection, Nicolò._

Booker squinted at the paper. “My transliteration isn’t great, but I’m fairly certain that’s not how to spell your name.”

Yusuf looked at the bouquet. Jasmine flowers, with their heady perfume, white lilies, carnations and chrysanthemum. If he weren’t a poet who knew the meanings of flowers, it would have been beautiful. “Is this a funeral bouquet?” he asked. “Is he threatening to kill me?”

“It looks like a romantic gesture to me,” Booker said. 

“You’ll regret saying that when I’m murdered in my wedding bed. Do you think it would ruin the negotiations if I tried to kill him first?”

“Remind me never to try to woo you.” 

Quynh returned just as Yusuf was considering whether responding with a gift-wrapped knife would be too overt of a way to warn his betrothed that he wouldn’t go down easily. 

“A gift from your fiancé?” she asked, eying the bouquet with suspicion. 

“Yusuf thinks it’s a threat on his life.”

“How did he know where I live?”

“Ah.” At that, Quynh actually looked a little sheepish. “Well, many people know that. And, after all, I assume he’ll be living here too after tomorrow. Unless you planned on moving to his tent?”

Yusuf narrowed his eyes at her. “What did you do?”

“Why do you assume I did something?”

“Because I’ve known you since we were children and you’ve usually done something. And where have you been? I knocked on your door last night and you didn’t answer, I had to turn to Booker for comfort in my hour of need.”

“What a tragedy.”

“Hey!” Booker protested, but without much heat. 

Quynh settled down in a chair, stretching her legs out. “Actually, I was in the invaders’ camp. And I did give one of their women directions to my bedroom, since I would prefer to sleep in my own bed tonight. I may have mentioned to her that we live next door to one another. It seems that she’s friends with your beloved. I have plenty of information on him, if you’re interested to know who you’re marrying tomorrow.” 

Yusuf glared at her, but her smile didn’t waver. He relented with a sigh. “As long as you don’t call him my beloved again,” he warned.

*

According to Andromache’s source, Yusuf Al-Kaysani, in addition to being a capable warrior, was also a poet, an artist, and much adored by his people. Nicolò couldn’t say he was surprised, although he was a little dizzied by the thought of those hands holding a pen or those lips wrapped around words of poetry. He cleared his throat. 

“What else?” he asked. 

Andromache smiled. “His father was a merchant, so he’s well-traveled. He speaks three languages, and he’s deadly with a blade. Quynh says he’s like a brother to her. She clearly holds him in high esteem.”

Nile whistled. “Damn,” she said. “You lucked out, Nico.” 

“I only hope I haven’t ruined things with him forever,” Nicolò said. “You should have seen him last night, he was like a man going to his death. He clearly doesn’t want to be married to me.”

“Well, at least we know he has one flaw.” Nile bumped him with her shoulder. “He’s lucky too, you know, and he’s an idiot if he doesn’t see it.”

“Thank you,” Nicolò said. “But his reluctance clearly comes from my coldness towards him, and even if I was merely ignorant, it’s still down to me to make it right.”

“Do you think he’s gotten your flowers yet?” Nile asked.

“I think it may take more than flowers to undo the damage I’ve done,” Nicolò said mournfully. 

Andromache punched him in the shoulder hard enough to make him wince. “So what are you waiting for?”

Nicolò decided it would be better to get going than to get beat up any further, so he hastily stood up and took his leave.

It took a promise to deliver a letter to Andromache and also to never hurt Yusuf, on pain of death, to get Quynh to tell him where he had gone. Well worth it, in Nicolò’s opinion. Especially when he came across Yusuf sitting cross-legged under a tree, sketching the rooftops of the city in front of him, and looking more relaxed than Nicolò had ever seen him. 

Of course, all that changed when he noticed Nico’s approach. His shoulders tensed, and he put down the paper he was working on- upside-down, just in case. 

“Do you need something?”

Nicolò gestured at the ground between them. “Do you mind if I join you?” he asked. 

There was still some caution on Yusuf’s face, but he still shrugged as if he didn’t care in the least. “My understanding is that your people will tend to go where you please whether we like it or not. ‘Be my guest’ might not be particularly appropriate here, but I won’t stop you.”

Taking that as an invitation, or as close as he would get, Nicolò sat. “There’s to be a treaty between our peoples,” he remarked. “Peace.”

“Peace,” Yusuf agreed. He was looking out over the city, but his eyes kept drifting back to Nico. 

“Did you get my flowers?” Nicolò asked, after a few moments of silence.

Yusuf huffed, eyes narrowing. “You spelled my name wrong,” he said.

“I apologize,” said Nicolò, putting a hand over his chest. He hoped Yusuf would see the gesture as sincere instead of mocking. “I’ll fix it next time I get you flowers.”

Yusuf was still watching him out of the corners of his eyes, as if he was waiting for something. “I can’t believe Quynh told you where I live.”

“In fairness, she told Andromache. I believe they’re quite taken with each other.” Nicolò smiled. “Maybe we won’t be the last marriage between our peoples.”

“Maybe they’ll take our place,” Yusuf said, although he didn’t sound particularly hopeful.

“Would you like that?” Nicolò asked. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer or not, but Yusuf didn’t respond. After a moment, Nico added, “I don’t believe I would.” 

He wasn’t surprised this time when Yusuf looked up at him, his expression taken aback, and somehow even more wary than it had been before. “Would you not?” 

Nicolò reached across the scant distance between them to rest his hand on Yusuf’s. His skin was warm, the bones of his hand solid under his touch, and he didn’t pull away. “I didn’t know until last night that we were even betrothed,” he said. “If I’ve been rude, if my words haven’t been… befitting, of someone who is newly engaged, that is why.”

Yusuf was watching him carefully, hardly moving. “I see,” he said. 

“I’m trying to tell you I’m sorry,” Nico blurted.

“Don’t worry,” said Yusuf. “I’m not going to let my pride stop the treaty from going through.”

“That wasn’t what I was concerned about,” Nicolò said.

Yusuf stood up. “You don’t need to worry about me,” he said. Gathering his notebook, he took a wide berth around Nicolò, and left. Nicolò didn’t follow him. 

*

Yusuf was fully ready to spend the next day and a half hiding in his room where no one could find him. It felt like as good a time as any too sulk. But, of course, his friends disagreed. Quynh dragged him out to spar and knocked him on his ass enough times that he was seriously wondering if he’d be able to stand for his wedding the next day. Just when he was ready to retreat, Booker grabbed him for an extended card game, and didn’t release him until the sun was starting to set and Yusuf’s stomach was grumbling. 

“Dinner?” Yusuf suggested.

Booker shook his head with a grin. “I have plans, but I’m sure you’ll find something to do. Go home, Yusuf.” 

He considered going out somewhere by himself, just to be contrary, but he wasn’t in the mood for strangers, so Yusuf made his way home. 

His house was brightly lit already when he arrived, the curtains pulled closed. He gripped a knife in his hands, glancing around the street. No one was out, and no one seemed to be watching him. Slowly, Yusuf made his way to the door, pushing it open just a little bit. Through the crack, he could see a figure moving, back turned to him, apparently unaware of his presence. 

He lunged, knife raised, and was immediately knocked away with a blow to his arm. With a grunt, Yusuf kept his grip on the knife, despite his assailant’s best efforts. It was only then that he recognized the intruder. 

Nicolò was unarmed, but didn’t seem at all concerned by how close the blade had come to his face. Yusuf lowered the knife. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that, I could have killed you.” 

“But you didn’t.” Nicolò sounded smug. “You’re fast, though. Your friend, Quynh, she said you were a skilled fighter. She was right.”

“Why are you in my house?” Yusuf asked.

Nicolò took a step back, and Yusuf realized he had been standing in front of the table, which was currently holding steaming dishes of some food he had never seen before. 

“I thought we should talk, before the wedding, I mean. You introduced me to some of your people’s foods, it seemed only fair that I do the same. And maybe if we’re eating you won’t run away from me.”

“I don’t run.”

“Don’t you?”

Yusuf sat down with a glare, feeling vaguely like he had just been outmaneuvered by his own stubbornness. Nicolò sat on the other end of the table, explaining each dish in turn. Yusuf watched him, only offering the occasional remark.

Nicolò was handsome, in his odd foreign way. He undoubtedly had plenty of admirers back home. He gestured with his hands as he spoke like he thought he could express everything he wanted to say with movement, but his eyes never moved from Yusuf’s face. It was an intense feeling, to say the least, having all that attention on him.

“You really had no idea we were engaged until yesterday?” Yusuf asked finally.

The other man ducked his head, embarrassed, but his eyes returned to Yusuf’s almost immediately. “I had no idea,” he confirmed. “Proposals in my culture are… well, not like that. I thought you were just being polite.”

Yusuf laughed, the thought of what might have been going on in Nicolò’s head during their first interaction breaking down some of his defenses. The stranger he was promised to was still watching him from across the table, and his expression was far from casual.

“When my general realized what had happened, he gave me a choice. Offered to let me back out, if I wanted,” Nicolò said. “I didn’t take it.”

“No?” Yusuf was watching him too now, and it felt like an earthquake where their eyes met. “It’s a noble sacrifice for peace.”

“I don’t think it’s a sacrifice,” said Nicolò, holding his gaze. “Not for me.” 

For a moment, it felt like the distance between them wasn’t there at all, that all that existed was the point where their eyes met. For once, it was Nicolò who broke first, looking away and clearing his throat as his cheeks turned pink.

“Anyway,” he said, standing abruptly. “I hope you liked your meal.”

He moved to clear away their dishes, but Yusuf stopped him with a hand on his arm. Nicolò froze as soon as they made contact, and Yusuf was suddenly hyper-aware of the skin under his fingers. Was this the second time he’d ever touched Nicolò, the man he was to marry tomorrow? Third? Did their brief combat earlier in the night count?

“Leave it,” Yusuf said, about the dishes. “Quynh and Booker let you in and kept me distracted all afternoon, they can clean it up.”

Nicolò lowered his arm, a small smile on his face. “That does seem fair,” he said. 

They weren’t touching anymore, but they were standing so close that they might as well be. Yusuf hadn’t realized before how tall this man was, but looking at him now required him to tilt his head upwards like a sunflower turning towards the light. 

“We aren’t getting married until the evening tomorrow,” he observed. “If you would like, we could see each other again in the morning.” Nicolò looked a little too pleased at that suggestion, so he added, “Maybe we could spar together, since you were so interested in that earlier.”

Nicolò huffed out a breath of a laugh. “I would like that,” he said. He reached up, and his fingers traced over Yusuf’s cheek, a whisper-light touch that somehow still drew him in, like a magnet to true North. Yusuf realized that he was leaning into Nicolò’s hand, and didn’t move. “I will have to be careful not to mark you before our wedding.” His voice was husky and deep, and it took Yusuf a moment to catch his words.

“I’m not too worried,” he said with a smirk, and the delight on Nicolò’s face was well worth it.

The door had barely closed behind him when it opened again. Booker was grinning ear to ear. 

“So?” he asked. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

Yusuf threw a towel at him. “You’re cleaning this up,” he informed him. “Stop letting people into my house.”

“That was Quynh,” Booker said, although he caught the towel easily, draping it over his arm like a waiter in a fancy restaurant, as he turned to clear the dishes. “I also just lost a good amount of money to her, by the way. I thought you wouldn’t last thirty minutes before kicking him out, but he was here almost two hours. His friend Nile thought he would spend the night. I suspect she may be an optimist.”

“Where is Quynh, anyway?” Yusuf asked, ignoring the latter part of the conversation. 

Booker gestured with a free hand in the direction of Quynh’s house. “Another one of your fiance’s friends joined us for the evening. Andromache, I think. Quynh decided to stay behind and entertain her. It’s a pity I didn’t put a bet on them, I would have won outright.” 

*

The morning of his wedding dawned with Nicolò having barely slept and unable to stop grinning. He met Nile and Andromache for breakfast, and Andy even stopped teasing him eventually, though only when Nile innocently asked how her night had been. After breakfast, and promising to meet them at least an hour before the ceremony, yes, of course he would, goodbye Nile, he made his way to the practice grounds. It was only a few moments of waiting before Yusuf strode over the horizon.

“Hello,” he said. There was already a smile on his face, and Nicolò couldn’t help but match it. 

“Hello,” he returned. 

Yusuf glanced to the side a bit. “It looks like we have an audience,” he said. Nicolò didn’t need to look to know who it was. 

“That we do,” he said. “Should we give them something to watch?” 

He could tell from the way that Yusuf was looking at him that he would consider a very different show, but he stepped back anyway, with a wide, wolfish grin. “Unarmed, then?” 

Nico nodded, stepping backwards to give Yusuf the space. His mouth went dry when the other man pulled his shirt off, revealing golden brown skin stretched taut over muscles. From the smirk Yusuf gave him, he was fully aware of what he was doing. He barely managed to get his arms up in time to block Yusuf’s first blow, and only landed one strike before Yusuf grabbed his arm and he went flying, landing on his back in the dirt. Yusuf dropped his arm with a grin. 

“Best of three?” he asked.

Nicolò kicked out sharply, knocking his opponent to the ground. “Sure,” he said, standing up.

They were well-matched, he realized. Yusuf was as strong as he was fast, and if they fought closer and pressed up against each other more than he normally would, well, no one could blame him. Each step Nicolò took, Yusuf was already taking the opposite, and they circled each other, trading jabs and defenses, like a choreographed dance. Normally in a fight, everything else was drowned out, not just everything around them, but any thoughts beyond his movement. But now, Nicolò was focused not just on how his body moved, but also Yusuf’s motions.

He was barely able to process exactly what was happening, Yusuf moved so quickly, but he felt his back hit the ground with Yusuf’s weight on top of him. Their faces were close enough he could feel Yusuf’s breath on his cheek. 

“I win,” Yusuf whispered, breathless, eyes alight with excitement.

Nicolò kissed him. 

Yusuf’s mouth was warm, his beard scraping against the soft skin around Nicolò’s lips as he returned the kiss. He felt a gentle, almost tentative lick of a tongue, and opened his mouth to accommodate. They could have kissed for hours, if they hadn’t been interrupted by a mocking whoop from the sidelines.

They broke apart, both breathing hard, more from the kiss than from their combat, Nicolò thought.

“Whoops,” Yusuf said, softly enough that only Nicolò could hear. Nico laughed.

“We should probably get up if we don’t want to be hearing about this for the rest of our lives,” he pointed out. 

“Probably,” said Yusuf. Nicolò was gratified to see that he didn’t seem to be regretting the kiss. If anything, he leaned in even closer before pulling away, a small smile dancing on his lips. 

Yusuf stood, holding out a hand for Nicolò to take. For a moment, Nico considered pulling him back down and declaring a win, but the second their hands touched he forgot what he was thinking about. 

“Care for a stroll?” Nicolò asked. “One last chance to talk before the ceremony?”

He realized that he was still holding Yusuf’s hand. Yusuf didn’t let go. 

“I’d like that,” he said with a smile. “Should we tell our friends where we’re going?”

Nicolò glanced sidelong at where the others were gathered, watching them. “Let them wonder,” he suggested. “They’ve been short of entertainment for a while.”

It was amazing, really, how they talked about nothing and it felt like everything. Yusuf had a sharp sense of humor, and recited poetry from memory. He was so still as they talked, an occasional tilt of his head or a slow smile his only reactions, and Nicolò couldn’t stop looking at him. Hours passed like nothing. 

“We should head back,” Yusuf said finally. “Quynh made me promise to let her help me get ready.”

“Nile and Andy asked the same of me,” Nicolò said. He hesitated. “Yusuf, I- I know you’ve been reluctant to go through with this. I can hardly blame you, especially with how I behaved at the beginning. If you don’t want to go through with this, I would understand.”

He braced himself for Yusuf to back out, or worse, to say that this was a sacrifice he was willing to make. “I don’t want this to be a sacrifice,” he realized aloud. “It’s not to me, and I don’t want it to be for you. This may not have been what I was intending when I came here, but I believe I was meant to find you. And I’m glad I did.” 

Nicolò was looking away, not wanting to see Yusuf’s reactions, but he felt a hand touching his chin gently, tilting his head to face him. 

“I’m glad you did too,” he said softly. He leaned up and pressed his lips to Nicolò’s. It was a softer kiss than earlier, but there was no hesitation in it, no doubt, just tenderness. Nicolò felt his eyes flutter closed, and he was lost in the sensations. 

Yusuf pulled back far too soon. “I’m not going to back out,” he said. It took Nico a moment to remember what they had been talking about. “You don’t need to worry about me,” Yusuf added, with a smile that was instantly returned.

*

They sheltered from the evening in the same central building where they had held the negotiations, what felt like months ago. Yusuf was nervous as he entered, Quynh and Booker flanking him. Quynh had helped him get ready, which took much longer than he had expected it to, while Booker had kept up a running commentary.

Now the wedding procession had arrived at the doors. The pale-eyed foreigners were staring at them, as if they had never seen anything like this before. It was entirely possible that they hadn’t, Yusuf supposed.

A loud cheer went up as they reached the building, and Yusuf was practically pushed inside, although they needn’t have bothered. He wasn’t at all tempted to stop until he saw Nicolò standing on the other end of the room, flanked by one of his priests and an imam. The other man lit up when he saw Yusuf, and it took a particularly hard nudge from Booker for Yusuf to realize he was standing still and start walking again.

He was vaguely aware that it had been several days of arguing what the wedding would look like. The priest had wanted a long mass, the imam had wanted to talk about the Prophet, there had been debate about which religious leader would counsel them beforehand, and eventually, neither of them had really won. Yusuf wasn’t really listening to the actual speech that did happen. They told him when to join hands with Nicolò, and his betrothed’s hands were warm, one thumb out of view of the watchers brushing over the back of his hand, and Yusuf was completely gone for this man.

There was a part at the end where they kissed, and although this wasn’t their first time, it felt like nothing he had ever felt before, like the first time he had seen the ocean, or contemplated the vastness of space. 

There was a celebration afterwards, with food and music and talk of peace, and they endured the good-natured teasing of their friends. Nile pulled him into an embrace at one point and told him, very seriously, “You’re my brother now, get used to it.” Yusuf thought he would never stop hugging people.

Later, well after midnight, they finally made their escape. Nicolò’s general thanked him for “what you’ve done here today”, and both of them managed to resist giggling at that, feeling vaguely like they had gotten away with something. Yusuf showed Nicolò to his house, like he didn’t already know the way. 

They lay in bed together, exhausted. After the noise and fervor of the day, the silence seemed to stretch into impossibility, broken only by distant sounds of the city and Nicolò’s breath on his face. 

“Are you still glad for this?” Yusuf asked in a whisper. They were nose to nose, close enough to touch, which Nicolò did, reaching across the tiny gap between them to wrap his arm around Yusuf’s waist and hold him close. 

“I am,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> None of the wedding or marriage stuff in this fic are necessarily representative of any specific culture! Coffee is sometimes used in Turkish proposals, although not in the way that appears in this. The wedding procession from Yusuf’s side is similar to a Zaffa, an Egyptian marriage ritual, which predates Islam, according to my very bad research. What cultures are they representing? What war is going on? Where is this taking place? When? Don’t ask questions. 
> 
> Side note, the last Catholic wedding Mass I went to was three hours, and the bride (my sister) thought it would be funny to tell me that stiletto heels were part of the bridesmaid uniform and not that the bridal party would be standing for the entire time. That was in 2011 and I still haven’t forgiven her.


End file.
